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RACHEL DU MONT; 

& |£vituc gittlc cit tftc glcwoUttiou. 

A TRUE STORY OF THE BURNING OF KINGSTON, N. Y ; 

BY THE BRITISH, 1776. 

FOR GIRLS AND BOYS, AND OLDER PEOPLE. 



BY MARY WESTBROOK./*; 

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION. 


FOURTH AND ILLUSTRATED EDITION. 


^ c o pyright ^ 

JAN 25!890 


ALBANY, N. Y.: 

JOEL JIUNSELL’S SONS, PUBLISHERS. 

1890. 





COPYRIGHT BY 

MRS. JAMES LANSING VAN DEUSEN. 
1889. 


WITH A HEART O’ERFLOWING WITH PRECIOUS MEMORIES 

TD MY MOTHER, 

SARAH BEEKMAN WESTBROOK, 

THE YOUNGEST CHILD OF “LITTLE RACHEL,” 
LOVINGLY, TENDERLY, I INSCRIBE 
THIS STORY. 


f 


The Weinberg, 
Kingston, N. Y., 1884. 


Mary Westbrook 




PREFACE TO FOURTH EDITION. 


Thanking, with all my heart, the friends who have so kindly and 
cordially received my little “ Rachel DuMont,” I venture this 
new edition, hoping, trusting that “ The Brave Little Maid of 
the Revolution ” will ever retain the interest which has been so 
delicately, unstintedly shown at her debut. 

Mary Westbrook. 


Cloverly-on-Weinberg, 
Kingston, N. Y. 




“Rachel was obliged to shade her eyes with her hands that she might still gaze on 




































































































RACHEL DU MONT; 


& gmue %iitU HXaifl of the Evolution. 


A TRUE STORY. 


CHAPTER I. 


NE hundred and seven years ago, on the 
sixteenth of October, a perfect day of In- 
dian-summer, a small village nestling under 
the Catskill mountains, was startled early in the 
morning by the cry: “ The British soldiers are 

coming ! ” Of course, young readers, you know this 
was during our Revolutionary War. This war was 
fought, you remember, to free our American colonies 
from the unjust tyranny of Great Britain, and to 
.establish a government for ourselves — under which 
government, through God’s goodness, we are living 
to day. The rural settlement which I have just 
spoken about, was Kingston, a place of much im¬ 
portance during this long struggle for freedom. 
General Washington often had his head-quarters 







8 


Rachel DuMont , 


here, and the house in which he stopped is still stand¬ 
ing. To go back to my story : In this village lived a 
brave little girl, fifteen years old, by the name of 
Rachel DuMont. She was the eldest child of an in¬ 
valid father and mother, and had three sisters and one 
brother. Rachel was the little mistress and house¬ 
keeper. In the house, beside the immediate family, 
were twenty slaves, over whom the little maid kept 
a kind supervision, for slavery, in a mild form, then 
prevailed in New York. Some of these family ser¬ 
vants had grown quite old and infirm, and some 
were children younger than Rachel herself. She was 
the darling little “ missy” all of the bond-children 
loved and almost worshipped. And truly the child 
was worthy of all the affection they so freely lavished 
upon her. She was ever careful for all their wants, 
and always treated them kindly and considerately. 
On the day when this sudden cry spread through the 
hamlet, every man that was able to fight, or enlist 
as a soldier, was away with the army under Wash¬ 
ington, and none were left to guard the women and 
children save the sick and very old. These, of 
course, could not do much, so the women and chil¬ 
dren had to act the part of soldiers, and nobly many 
of them did their duty. But none excelled the 
young damsel Rachel, who showed, in readiness for 
the crisis, a careful management and forethought far 
beyond her years. 

“ The British are coming! ” sounded and re¬ 
sounded o’er the beautiful plains of the quiet village. 




A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution , 


9 



Rachel and her Mother. 




IO 


Rachel DuMont , 


And well the inhabitants knew what that meant. It 
had been rumored that Kingston was to be burned 
by the British soldiers, so as to cut off the supplies 
from the rebel army, which came largely from the 
rich farms bordering this old Dutch settlement. 
Some Tory families, living in Kingston, had given 
this information to the British officers, upon the 
assurance that they should find protection. Yes, 
dear youth, even one hundred years ago, there were 
a few ready to betray their country, should their own 
interests not suffer thereby. Ignoble souls ! Let 
us, if we can, draw the veil of charity over their mis¬ 
deeds. 

On the eventful morning of the entrance of the 
enemy in this camp of women and children, 
Rachel was arrayed in a most becoming holiday 
attire, consisting of a white tunic, (or short-gown, 
as it was then called) and blue skirt or petticoat, 
reaching midway between the knee and ankle, and 
long blue silk stockings, with black pumps, orna¬ 
mented with large silver buckles. Her hair, which 
was chestnut brown, was closely tucked under a 
dainty white muslin cap, save a few stray curling 
locks, which chafed at the restraint, and sported with 
wild abandon on the soft autumn breeze. It was 
the little girl’s fifteenth birthday, and it was to be 
celebrated with as much festivity as the perilous 
times would allow. The girls and boys of the vil¬ 
lage had been invited to spend the day with Rachel 
in the large front-yard of the old family mansion. 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 11 

Caesar, the most venerable of the men-servants, over 
whose brow the gray hair was deftly braided in 
honor of the day, and Isabel, his wife, with a bright 
red turban and clean white apron, were to preside 
over the supplies of the kitchen—which, let me 
whisper right here — consisted only of suppawn and 
milk. And the whole crowd of servants — forming 
almost a colony — were already robed in their very 
best — the girls and women in gray homespun petti¬ 
coats, with blue waists and ’kerchiefs, yellow turbans 
and pink aprons. The boys and men also in gray 
linsey-woolsey suits — roundabouts and trowsers — 
and braided hair, which was made to stand out like 
the waxed moustache of the present day. They 
were to have games on the still soft, sweet, green 
grass : “ Oats, peas, beans and barley grows,” “ Hunt 
the slipper,” “ Pillows and keys,” etcetera, and then 
they were to have their refreshments on the same 
rich beautiful lawn, with the blue canopy of Heaven 
over their heads. 

Isabel had spread the whitest of table-cloths over 
the improvised table for the great party, and the old 
blue china brought from Holland, by Rachel’s 
mother, and the antique silver cream-pitcher from the 
same father-country graced this neatly-laid board. 
The pitcher I must describe, as being now in posses¬ 
sion of one of the great-grandchildren of little 
Rachel,— I can tell you just how it looks. The 
most quaint old tankard, poised on three carved feet, 
large at the base, and sloping upward to the most 


Rachel DuMont , 


12 

delicate of necks and throats. So, although only a 
pudding made of Indian meal, with rich creamy 
milk, was to be the repast, there was a certain style 
to be observed in the serving of the same, which be¬ 
tokened somewhat the social status of the little girl’s 
parents. I had forgotten to tell you that Rachel’s 
father was a French Huguenot, and his eldest child 
had inherited all the gay vivacity and graceful man¬ 
ner of the French race. Yet how I do digress! The 
morning of the fete champetre, the little Rachel was 
in the most brilliant of spirits, and her deep gray 
eyes fairly danced with delight, yet a wistful, far¬ 
away look in the happy child-face, truly foretold the 
tragic drama of this eventful day. She had just de¬ 
scended from her room, in the gabled attic of the 
old stone house, and had gone to the front porch to 
see the arrangements for her lawn party, when the 
alarm — “The British are coming!” — fell upon her 
ear. Instantaneously, without moving, she lifted 
her eyes and heart to the “ God of battles” for suc¬ 
cor and guidance. Then, while a mantle of light 
seemed to envelop her, hastily she summoned the 
men-servants and told them to get the large wagons, 
with the tried family and farm horses, in immediate 
readiness. Quietly she went to the invalid parents 
who were each reclining on a lounge-chair, and told 
them unexcitedly as possible that the enemy was 
near, and that she thought best to move the family 
over the creek, which bordered the village, and 
which was, at that time of the day, fordable. 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 13 

Instinctively the mother and father submitted to 
the guidance of their little daughter, seeming to re¬ 
gard her as specially commissioned to save them. 
They were quickly ready to be lifted in the first 
wagon by the servants, who then placed the younger 
children in the same conveyance. Caesars oldest 
son, Elijah, was given the post of trust for this pre¬ 
cious load—the idolized family of the little “ missy.” 
And with a good portion of the old prophet’s sagac¬ 
ity did this stalwart coachman start on his journey 
over the Esopus creek. 

Rachel, fondly embracing her parents, sisters and 
brother, who implored her to come with them,— 
bade them good-bye with a loving, strong voice, tell¬ 
ing them God would bring her safely to them when 
she had attended to the rest of her charge. Then 
directing the men to lift old Dinah, Caesar’s mother, 
who was bed-ridden from rheumatism, in the next 
wagon, and one of the little slave children, who was 
sick, she quickly gave orders to fill up this load with 
the mothers having babies and young children. 
Pompey, Dinah’s second grandson, was placed in 
charge of his grandmother, the mothers, babies (and 
horses,) and started on his way. He, too, rose to 
the dignity of the occasion, and vociferously shouted 
in the old woman’s ear, “ Don’ be scared, Mammy ! 
The Britishers can’t catch us ! And if dey’s do, one 
gimpse of yer red turban, and red coak would 
make em tink we wos jis dem own folks ! So no 
danger for us ! ” And putting the whip to the horses 


H 


Rachel DuMont , 



Pompey Conveying the Slaves to a Place of Safety . 












A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 15 

in a very energetic manner, although he protested 
he “ wasn’ ’feared,” reached the borders of the creek, 
on the northwest of the village, just as the red-coats 
were seen approaching the lowlands on the north¬ 
east. Yet brave Pompey did not say he had caught 
sight of these red-coats to the old Mammy. For 
once he restrained his fright somewhat. Yet his 
eye-balls rolled with a very uncertain glare, as ever 
and anon he peeped back over his shoulders. 

Filling another smaller wagon with a few of the 
household treasures — the silver and china which 
had been brought out of the house, fortunately, for 
the grand party, Rachel gave this in charge of Uncle 
Ned, Pompey’s father. He quickly followed in the 
wake of the preceding wagons, looking neither to 
the right nor the left, “ les I’se might be changed to 
a .pillar of salt,” he said. Poor old Uncle Ned, 
faithfully and literally applied all the Bible warnings. 

Now, the little girl for one moment, went in the 
dear old house, to take a parting look at the home 
of her birth, whose rooms were filled with so many 
endeared, hallowed associations, even to a child. 
For an instant the tears o’erflowed her eyes and 
face ; but, dashing them away, she knelt by the side 
of her mother’s chair, and lifting her eyes once more 
Heavenward, asked her Father in Heaven to go 
forth with her and her beloved ones, and lead them 
to a place of safety. Then, rising from her lowly 
posture, she braced herself for the trying ordeal. 

By this time all the inhabitants had fled to the 


i6 


Rachel DuMont, 



tn God is our Trust. 







































A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 17 

woods, and different places they thought safe, sav¬ 
ing what they could. Already had the torch been 
applied to the dwellings on the outskirts of the vil¬ 
lage, by the scouts, and the lurid flames threw an 
unearthly light over the face and figure of little 
Rachel in her holiday dress. The men and women 
servants had all collected about her, waiting for her 



Rachel asking her Father in Heaven for guidance. 


to lead them forth. Every eye was on the little 
maid, and every arm ready to be raised in her de¬ 
fense. As she left the house, she had caught up a 
red scarf, which had lain in the hall, which she care¬ 
lessly threw over her shoulder and draped around 
her waist, thus unconsciously, with the blue skirt, 


3 

















Rachel DuMont. 


and white tunic, girding herself with her country’s 
colors. Happy augury! Thus was our little “ Lieu¬ 
tenant-General ” robed for the fiery trial, through 
which she was to pass. Then stepping quickly in the 
midst of the waiting servants, with sparkling eyes, 
though her face was pale, with firm voice, lifting her 
right hand over her head she said : “ In God is our 
trust! Come, my well-loved ! We will not be afraid ! 
He who led His chosen people through the waters 
of the Red Sea,— He shall be with us ! And though 
the fiery flames envelop us, He will be at our side 
and lead us forth unharmed.” 


CHAPTER II. 



jO did this truly inspired child breathe hope 
and confidence in the little band under her 
guidance. And valorously did she march 
at the head of her followers, never flagging, until 
she had safely guided them over the waters to 
the desired haven. Then her thoughts quickly went 
back to the old home. Suddenly as though some 
one had been forgotten, she darted away, and fairly 
flew to the grounds which had so long yielded all 
the supplies of the family. It was just about har¬ 
vest time and the beautiful fields of corn were wav¬ 
ing and bowing with their tasseled helmets, seeming 
like a great army of warriors, to protect this lone 
little girl. The buckwheat was also in its most 
beauteous of dress, frisking and gamboling with the 
soft breeze, as though no ruthless sword, nor flaming 
torch, were even then held over its head. All was 
serene and peaceful, just for that moment, as the 
ominous lull, that so often precedes the outburst of 
the storm. The child saw it and felt it all! Never 
could she forget these beautiful fields ripe for har¬ 
vest, swaying and bending with their precious 
sheaves. They were graven on her heart never to 
be erased. Neither could perish from her memory 



20 


Rachel DuMont, 


the sense of impending woe, which now weighed 
upon her like some terrible nightmare. What had 
brought her back to her home? She had thought 
of the cows, chickens and pigs that were in the barn¬ 
yard near the house, and she had come to save these 
animals, if possible, even at the risk of her own life, 
or of being taken prisoner, which was worse than 
death. The cows were Rachel’s especial pets, and 
their soft, dreamy eyes had ever a strange fascina¬ 
tion for the little girl. They were wont to follow 
her, and come at her call, as did the chickens, large 
and small, and even the great, fat mother-swine, with 
her family of nine frisky pigs, never for an instant 
hesitated when Rachel spoke. So now, as she ab¬ 
ruptly appeared among them and said “ come ! ” the 
entire “ caravan,” as one, sprang to do her bidding. 
With the inborn knowledge of coming events which 
animals largely possess, they had scented danger in 
the air, and plainly showed by their manner, their 
delight, when their deliverer came for their rescue. 

Rachel, with all these friends closely following 
her, turned her steps to the largest corn-field — the 
most remote from the house and village, and where 
there was a spring of good water, and field of grass 
adjoining. There she led her flock in “ richest, 
gree'nest pastures, beside the still waters.” Then 
telling them to stay there until she came, she patted 
the cows’ faces, with their sad eyes turned to hers, 
and even stopped to say something in an unknown 
tongue to the pretty, soft, little chickens, and chubby, 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution 


21 


s 



Come ! 





























































































































22 


Rachel DuMont. 


awkward pigs, who seemed to understand. At least 
they kept their eyes fixed upon their little mistress, 
and quietly remained where she had placed them. 

“ Good-bye, good-bye, dear, old darlings ! ” called 
Rachel, as lightly she sprang over the log fence. “ I 
will come for you as soon as I can ! ” The child 
never forgot to reassure even an animal. She was 
their best friend, and with true instinct they knew it, 
as they showed by always coming to her when sick, 
or hurt, and bringing their young too, for comfort. 


CHAPTER III. 


HE field where Rachel had left her “pets” 
was very near to the creek, which was yet 
to be forded. The. water had now risen 
much higher, and was well calculated to intimidate 
an older person than our heroine. Still, nothing 
daunted, the little girl espied some rocks here and 
there, jutting their uneven, ragged edges above the 
water. So she thought she could jump or spring 
from stone to stone, and thus reach her beloved 
mother and father, sisters and brother. She was the 
best dancer of the village maidens, and a famed adept 
in dancing the minuet. Perhaps, young friends, you 
know all about these old-fashioned dances from your 
great, great grandmothers; so I will only say, that 
to dance well in olden times, one had to be very lithe 
and agile, and be able to jump a little — gracefully, 
of course. Thus our brave little Rachel soon was 
leaping from one rock to another like some young 
deer, choosing the most perilous places. And very 
beautiful was the sight of this young girl with her 
gay dress and floating, red scarf, poised on stone 
after stone, with all the speed and grace of a fawn. 
Her cap had fallen off in the water, and the chest¬ 
nut hair, gleaming with gold in the sunlight, fell 







24 Rachel DuMont , 

over her shoulders, below the waist in the most 
attractive neglige. 

Now she stands perfectly still, posed on a rock 
which seems too far away from another to leap, yet 
once. She had unconsciously taken the most grace¬ 
ful of postures. One foot slightly forward of the 
other, standing on tip-toe, she was looking where to 
take the next step. Forward she could not go : and, 
turning in desperation partly, to her old home, she 
caught sight of the British army — crossing the low¬ 
lands — entering Kingston. It was then about twelve 
o’clock, and the sun shone directly down on the 
brightly polished arms and red uniform of the sol¬ 
diers, making them to glisten with brilliance, which so 
entranced the child — she could not move. The soft, 
low beat of the drum had also reached her ear, and 
she, the child of a soldier, full of martial enthusiasm, 
forgot everything but the glittering array and bril¬ 
liant approach of a grand army, with drums and fifes, 
playing well-known old airs. Rachel had ever been 
a strange child, keenly sensitive to all impressions, 
and had often been rallied upon her “ queer ways.” 
Now she saw and felt nothing but the dazzling 
splendor of this grand army of marching soldiers in 
shining armor. She was fairly enchained to the 
spot. She thought not of her danger, but was filled 
with childish ecstacy and delight at the brilliant 
pageant. Her French nature fairly reveled in the 
bright colors of the British, and their glistening 
guns, and she could not take her eyes away. The 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 25 

sun, as I have said, shone so directly upon them, and 
so intensified the glittering, that Rachel was obliged 
to shade her eyes with her hands, that she might 
still gaze on. Would that some one of our gifted 
American artists could have transferred to canvas 
this child-woman as she there stood amid the waters 
of the Esopus creek. No other would be needed to 
immortalize his genius or skill. Noble, heroic 
maiden! Lifted above and out of herself and 
hazardous surroundings, and intently looking with a 
child’s artlessness and fearlessness upon this band of 
marauders that were to lay desolate her fondly-loved 
home. 

Rachel remained in this strange position, with her 
hands still shading her eyes, perfectly motionless, 
still gazing at the moving army, slowly entering the 
village — many minutes. The flames on the out¬ 
skirts of the town, where the scouts had applied the 
torch, were increasing rapidly. Already the wind 
was carrying the cinders from the burning barns all 
around this fairy Undine, on her island in the sea, 
and the smoke of the falling homes had reached the 
heart of the little maid, well nigh suffocating her. 
She could not longer look toward this flaming mass. 
Suddenly she awoke to a sense of her dangerous 
situation. Hot, blinding tears shut out all the glit¬ 
tering arms and bright uniforms, and the cries of the 
dazed inhabitants from their different coverts 
drowned the music of drum and fife. Yes, Rachel 
was awake, and fully roused to the import of what 
4 


26 


Rachel DuMont. 


was impending. She must reach her parents! They 
would be agonized at her delay! Summoning all her 
courage and again lifting eyes and heart heavenward, 
she gave the leap — to what ? But the ever-loving 
Father had His eye on this brave child! His arms 
were about her! Distinctly she felt the unseen 
Presence, and submitted to the Strength which she 
knew environed her. Her feet now rested on the 
Rock, sure and steadfast! She was saved! The 
waters did seem to roll back ! And a path was made 
whereon the little girl reached the opposite shore in 
safety. 


CHAPTER IV. 


ERY proudly Rachel stepped on tcrra-Jirjna 
once more with a heart overflowing with 
gratitude to the dear Friend who had so 
truly been with her. The little sisters and brother, 
with the servants, had been watching her from the 
shore, powerless to help. As the child leaped in the 
arms extended toward her, unscathed, arose such a 
cry of thanksgiving and praise as only a negro’s fer¬ 
vent nature can send forth. “ Our little missy ! Our 
little missy! Jesus did carry de little lamb in His 
bosom ober de rolling water! Bress de Lor’! Bress 
de Lor’! Hallelujah, Hallelujah!” 

The little girl, quiet, but beaming with joy, soon 
hushed the kindly enthusiastic though rather noisy 
demonstrations of her staunch friends, and hastened, 
surrounded by this “guard o’ the leal,” to her 
anxious parents. They had taken refuge at an old 
farm-house about a mile from the creek, and were 
each on a rude settee, watching for their hearts’ idol. 
As they saw her approaching and knew that she was 
safe, the mother fainted. The long watching, with 
the terrible uncertainty, had almost snapped the 
thread of life; and when the darling figure of her 
child, her first-born, was seen in the distance, the 
reaction nearly proved fatal. 




28 


Rachel DuMont , 


Touching indeed was the solicitude of the sick 
husband and father in trying to arouse the drooping 
form of his wife; “She is here! She is here!” the 
poor man called to his swooning companion. 
Slowly, the eyes opened, a faint color came to her 
cheek, and Rachel’s mother lived to clasp her 
beloved to her heart once more. Too sacred was 
the scene now to lift the veil, even though one hun¬ 
dred years have cast their soft, mellow haze over the 
touching picture. The little maid, robed in the 
“ red, white and blue,” kneeling beside the reclining 
parents, while the brother and sisters and servants 
pressed close about her: the father, in strong voice, 
sent earnest thanksgiving to the Heavenly Father, 
for restoring to them their child. “Amen and 
amen!” “ Bress de Lor’!” were the frequent re¬ 
sponses and ejaculations, breaking in upon or 
enhancing this hallowed hour. 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 


2 9 



Rachel restored to her Parents. 




















CHAPTER V. 


ND now the family were en-masse , watch¬ 
ing the progress of the terrible fire-fiend, 
which they could very clearly trace. With 
eyes and beating hearts, entwined in each 
arms, silently they witnessed home after 
home succumb and fall before the destroyer. Their 
own beloved walls were among the last to be con¬ 
sumed by the flames. Slowly, yet surely, the stealthy 
foe crept and hissed with forked tongue over the 
doomed village! Its fate was sealed! The old 
Dutch settlement was to be totally destroyed by the 
enemy. I say totally — yet there was one barn 
saved, in which a very pious old man had for many 
years, every day, sent up sincere, heart-breathed 
petitions to Him who watcheth above. 

And one house was left intact, where General 
Washington made his head-quarters when in this 
vicinity. And the unroofed walls of the old stone 
mansion in which Rachel’s grandfather lived, and 
which had the honor of being the first Senate House 
of the State of New York. This old house also 
became the residence of Major VanGaasbeck, a 
brother-in-law of our little heroine, and a member 
of the first Congress of the United States. His 



suffused 

others’ 










IV(Itching the progress of the terrible fire-fiend. 
































































32 


Rachel DuMont. 


portrait, a beautiful painting on ivory, in powdered 
wig, ruffled linen at the bosom and wrists and “small 
clothes,” is one of the interesting features of this 
quaint old building, which is still standing, the home 
of a grandchild of little Rachel. 

Pardon my little digressions, young friends. So 
many incidents crowd upon my heart and brain as I 
am chronicling this biography, which were told me 
in my childhood by my grandmother, the brave little 
maid of the Revolution, that it seems almost im¬ 
possible not to turn aside from the laid-out path, 
once-in-a-while, and pluck these little stray blossoms 
from the storehouse of memory. Remember, I am 
writing a true story, which I think will teach you 
many a lesson of bravery, unselfishness, endurance 
and fortitude. 



Portrait of Major Pan Gaasbeck. 




CHAPTER VI. 


HE sun had gone down some time before 
the fire seemed to be burnt out for want of 
material. Greedily it had cried, “ more, 
more!” until there was no more to give. Nothing 
but a desert of ashes remained where once the 
beautiful hamlet gladdened the eyes and hearts of 
its inhabitants. Oh, desolation of desolations! 
Verily, “ its walls were laid even with the ground, 
and its children rose up and called it desolate ! ” 
What a sunset was this ! The whole sky blazing 
with the lurid reflections, while all over the fallen 
village, impenetrable masses of thick, black smoke. 
God alone could sustain the fugitives, and truly 
He did. They lost neither faith nor courage, but 
quietly waited for the rift in the cloud. 

It was most morning before Rachel could be in¬ 
duced to take any rest. She had passed through so 
much on this eventful day that to sleep seemed hun¬ 
dreds of years away. Beside, she was on guard 
over her darling parents and younger children, and 
she knew not what might happen, as long as the 
British soldiers were not miles and miles off. No, 
Rachel could not sleep! She must watch through 
the darkness until the day should dawn. 








A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 35 

Telling the servants to be in readiness, should 
they be needed, this unselfish, self-sacrificing child, 
persuaded her parents, with the children, to retire 
for the night. After all was quiet, the little girl 
began to think over all that had happened during 
the day. She felt that some strange change had 
come over her own nature in the last few hours. 
She had become a woman in heart and mind. Yes, 
her childhood’s days had been consumed by the same 
scorching flames that had interrupted and stopped 
all the games and festivities of her birthday fete. 
Truly, Rachel had been baptized t with fire! And 
she had come forth freed from alloy. Yet, she was 
only a woman, and as such could not help clinging 
to the remembrance of many a household treasure 
buried beneath the ruins of her once happy home. 
Sincere tears flowed over her cheeks while thinking 
that she should see these endeared relics no more. 
And then the eyes of the woman-child went down 
to her feet to see if her silver buckles — her only 
ornaments — were safe. This was the first she had 
thought of them. And, alas! one was gone! It 
must have been washed away by the waters in that 
terrible crossing of the creek. Poor little Rachel, 
who had so bravely stood almost within the range 
of the enemy’s guns without the slightest fear, and 
without shedding a tear, was now quite heart-broken 
over the loss of only a shoe-buckle. Do not think 
she was foolish, reader. They had been given to 
her by a dear playmate, a boy, a few years her senior, 


3 6 


Rachel DuMont, 


as he bade her good-bye two years before, and 
marched off to the music of the drum and fife to 
join the army fighting for his country. Tears had 
been in the lad’s eyes as he placed these souvenirs 



for my sake. ” 

in the little maid’s hands, and very tremulous was 
the voice that said: “Good-bye, Rachel ! keep these 
until I come back to you, and wear them for my 
sake.” With both his hands clasping the one the 









































































A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 37 

young girl outstretched to him, the children stood 
perfectly quiet, with only Heaven to witness the 
parting. Yet each felt the choking sensation that 
would not permit the expressing in words the 
thoughts welling up in either breast. They were 
too much in awe to kiss each other, yet a certain 
something passed from heart to heart, and flashed 
from eye to eye, revealing that their destinies were 
forever inseparable. 

And now, that one link intrusted to her care was 
missing, this was too much for our little “ Lieutenant- 
General ” to endure without the relief of tears. But 
I must give her the credit of not long giving way to 
what she thought a selfish wrong at such a time, and 
heroically drying her eyes, she placed the remaining 
buckle next her heart, where she would wear it until 
the dear one came. Not a very romantic keep-sake, 
my youthful friend: still remember it was not quite 
as easy one hundred years ago to give rings, and 
locked bracelets, as pledges of love. And the silver 
buckles, which had been the boy’s grandfather’s in 
his English home, were the most precious of treas¬ 
ures to the country lad. And just because they 
were so dearly cherished, did he give them to the 
little girl he loved. To tell the truth, Rachel in so 
quickly wiping away her tears, had felt that she 
would in some way soon again obtain possession of 
the little piece of her heart lost that day. Her 
sensitiveness to impressions was very great, and she 
had often shocked the good old Holland-Dutch by 


3« 


Rachel DuMont , 


saying so-and-so would happen —she felt it in the air . 
It was her French blood, the little maiden said, which 
made her feel things before the more stolid Dutch. 
And she seemed so earnest in her beliefs, that no 
one had the heart to contradict her, although they 



could not understand the child’s moods. She was 
their darling and they trusted her. The morning 
had dawned before Rachel would give slumber to 
her eye-lids or sleep to her eyes. Then lying on a 
rude “ bunk,” a clumsy wooden sofa-bedstead, with¬ 
out pillow or blanket, she fell asleep. 



















































































A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 39 

It was nearly noon before she awoke, with the 
happiest smile on her face, and some great joy quiv¬ 
ering on her lips—the impressions and recollections 
of a dream, too good to tell—of her absent playmate 
and absent shoe-buckle. All the little girl would 
disclose was that she had seen the silver buckle as 
in her dream she was crossing the creek with the 
dear friend who had given them to her, and who 
seemed to be a tall man in the dress of an officer in 
the American army. Rachel’s happiness cheered all 
the family. And with the light of another day they 
took a new view of the calamity which had come to 
them. Their lives had been spared, and they had 
found a place of refuge, where they could stay, until 
they might erect some sort of log-hut for the winter 
months. And best of all, the “ Britishers ” had 
evacuated the town. This news had come to them 
early in the day, so their hearts could be at rest 
about new depredations near them. 

The red-coats had learned that a portion of the 
American army under General George Clinton,— 
afterward Governor of the State of New York for 
twenty-one years,— was marching to the relief of 
the terrified inhabitants, and very prudently had 
hastened away after making sure to capture and 
burn all provisions. They did not pursue the flee¬ 
ing villagers, but speedily traveled off with their 
spoils. 

When Rachel learned that the British had fled, 
she insisted upon immediately going to see about 


40 


Rachel DiiMont. 


the animals she had left in the corn-field. But her 
parents were so fearful some red-coat might be 
prowling about still, to quiet their fears, reluctantly 
she waited. The ruins were yet smoking and burn¬ 
ing and none of the fugitives dared to go back, until 
it was certain that the enemy had departed — every 
man. Do not think they were cowards, young 
readers. They were without weapons or any means 
of defense,— these old and sick men and women and 
young children; and to be taken prisoner was too 
dreadful to think of. So they waited until our own 
soldiers had come to their relief a few days later. 
In this battalion, sent too late to save the beautiful 
hamlet, were the fathers, husbands, brothers and 
sons of the burnt homes, and touching beyond 
words were the meetings of the separated families. 
Language cannot portray these scenes. Your 
hearts alone, dear readers, can paint them. When 
the army arrived in sight of these blackened ruins, 
the officer in command gave the order to these hus¬ 
bands, sons, fathers and brothers to go forth and 
seek their loved ones. 

The brave lad, Rachel’s playmate, who had grown 
a tall youth of eighteen—Tjerck Beekman, was his 
name—and had risen to the dignity of a Lieutenant’s 
epaulettes, quickly found the whereabouts of the 
young maid of his dreams. 


CHAPTER VII. 


ACHEL was standing on the borders of the 
creek which separated her from her child¬ 
hood’s home, watching the still burning 
ruins and listening to the drum and fife in the dis¬ 
tance, which intuitively she knew to be the notes 
that relief — joy had come. Clasping her hands 
over her heart, which wildly throbbed with all she 
felt in the air, she saw approaching a young officer 
in American uniform. Tall and graceful, his sword 
sheathed at his side, he was leaping from rock to 
rock, with all the intrepidity with which a true man 
conquers “the lions in his path,” or surmounts the 
obstacles which intervene between him and his loved 
one. As he neared the spot where the young girl 
stood, still robed in her country’s colors, he felt that 
it was indeed Rachel. The blood mounted to his 
brow, in spite of his soldier-clothes, and the brave 
officer’s heart gave some very portentous leaps to¬ 
ward his mouth, as he now, rather tremblingly, drew 
close to the shore. 

And our little “Lieutenant-General!” She saw 
and conquered her unruly heart! For was she not 
more than a soldier, even a Lieutenant? Was she 
not a true woman ? 

6 




42 


Rachel DuMont, 



“He felt that it was indeed Rachel 






















A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 43 

With apparent sang-froid y although with burning 
cheeks and beaming eyes, she issued her orders : “ Be 
careful! Look well before you leap ! Salute your — 
General ! ”—which last command was not obeyed in 
strictly orthodox military fashion. An old croaking 
turtle on the rock told Rachel’s mother — although 
Rachel never entered any complaint of insubordina¬ 
tion. As there were no eye-witnesses to the meeting 
save the old turtle-croaker, and he quickly drew his 
head within his shell, I will have to skip what I con¬ 
fess is just the most interesting part of the story to 
me — an old married woman. But, as my grand¬ 
mother— little Rachel — always left a sort of blank 
page at this terminus of the “jumping and leaping,” 
I never knew exactly how much of a leap was that 
last one of the young soldier. Any way I think it 
was made safely at the feet of little Rachel, who, I 
can say this much, warmly welcomed her old play¬ 
mate from the depths of the heart, fortified by the 
mailed armor of a huge silver shoe-buckle, which 
you know, young friends, could not be very invin¬ 
cible. 

Turning their steps toward the old farm-house, 
where the family of Rachel was sheltered, the youth¬ 
ful lovers (can I use the word in its holiest sense?) 
with hearts too full to talk, quietly side by side, 
wafted as sweet incense toward Heaven, their over¬ 
flowing gratitude and love. This was their uncon¬ 
scious betrothal, too pure and sacred for us to linger 
upon, although so many years have passed since 
Heaven sanctioned this silent plighted troth. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


EFORE the old-fashioned porch of the 
farm-house was reached Rachel told her 
friend of the missing shoe-buckle, and of 
her grief, and then of the impression that she would 
find it, but nothing did the little girl say of her 
happy dream. That was hers alone still. Not yet 
could she divulge this secret, even to her returned 
cher ami. The young officers eyes sparkled with an 
amused expression, as Rachel, with artless naivete , 
spoke of her great loss, and then so quickly “ knew 
she would find it.” Tjerck well remembered this 
hopeful, joyous, bright side of the child’s character, 
and with pleasure found that the years had left her 
with all her childhood’s faith and trust. 

By this time they had reached the place of refuge 
of the family of the little girl, whom for so long 
the young soldier had fondly watched over and 
cherished. Time had only strengthened this boyish 
love, and Rachel was the bright, particular star that 
influenced all his destiny. Her presence had been 
with him through all the trying, severe experiences 
of the last two years, and nothing could sever, no not 
even death — the firm cable-link closely binding the 
woman-child’s heart to his own. And now, as she 




A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 45 

led him before her surprised mother and father, with 
parents’ hearts, they felt at once this bond of union. 
With a son’s tenderness, Tjerck greeted them and 
the little ones. Truth compels me to add that these 
children almost demolished the worn uniform of 
their soldier-friend. The sword and epaulettes had 



Benjamin. 


peculiar attractions for the little boy, the “ Benja¬ 
min” of the household, and very proudly did he 
strut over the wide old porch, with the sword, in its 
scabbard, dangling at his side. He was a true hero, 
in miniature, that would “defend mother, and father 
and sister, right before the enemy’s guns, when they 
were fired off! 


46 


Rachel DuMont . 


After spending some few minutes in talking of the 
terrible misfortune, and finding out the exact situa¬ 
tion of these exiles, the young Lieutenant proposed 
going to the old house to see if anything was left. 

Rachel, who had been so longing to go to her 
pets for many days, insisted upon accompanying 
him. Gladly would her old playmate have spared 
her the sight of her beloved home lying in ashes, but 
the brave girl told him that she had promised these 
dear friends to come as soon as she could, and she 
knew they must be in despair at her delay, if they 
were still alive. So she overcame the scruples and ob¬ 
jections of the young man and her cautious parents, 
and made ready for the expedition. Telling Pompey 
to bring one of the horses which was accustomed to 
fording the creek for Lieutenant Beekman to mount, 
she retired to make some few preparations for her 
journey. 


CHAPTER IX. 


HEN Rachel returned, being absent only a 
few minutes, she had draped a scarlet cloth 
cloak belonging to her mother about her 
slight form, in lieu of a riding-habit, and most pictur¬ 
esque was the costume. With whatever this little 
maid robed herself there was always a grace and a 
charm very unusual in one so young. (This scarlet 
cloak is in a pretty well-preserved state, the inheri¬ 
ted legacy of one of little Rachel’s great grandchil¬ 
dren.) Finding her escort with the favorite family 
horse in readiness, unassisted she sprang on the pil¬ 
lion of the saddle, with all the nonchalance of a 
“ Child of the Regiment,” followed quickly by the 
young Lieutenant, who took his place directly in 
front of her. This fashion of riding was an old cus¬ 
tom, considered perfectly au fait a hundred years 
ago. Pompey was not exactly pleased to see his 
young “missy” going away in the company of a 
handsome young soldier, and rolled his eyes from 
one to another as if trying to gauge the situation. 
He had refrained from speaking, but now when 
Rachel had vaulted so lightly on the back of the 
horse, he could stand it no longer. Looking very 
grave, and showing all the whites of his eyes, he 





4 8 


Rachel DuMont , 


said: “ Missy Rachel, let Pompey go wid de young 
gemmen ! Little Missy can’t do nuffin in war times ! 
Me and de hofficer ’ll tend to ebery ting, and be 
company for each oder too. Yer’ll be arful lonely 
widout yer Mar and Par, missy ! and sojers isn’ ’cus- 
somed to young ladies! Dis one can’t take no car ob 
yer. Now jes lissen to Pompey, and jump right off 
dat hoss’s back, an’ go on de piazzer wid yer mudder 
and fadder. Pompey is de boy wotdl fix dem red 
fellers. He isn’ feard”— 



“Lordy Massy! dem Britishers am cornin' agin." 

Just then the American army were firing a gun 
to tell the hour of noon, and Pompey took to his 
heels for the house, exclaiming, “ Lordy Massy; dem 
Britishers am cornin’ agin ! — Good Mr. Lordie, spare 







A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 49 

dis poor family, an’ de niggers, too ; ole Grannie, she’s 
ole an’ sick, an’ wan’s to die, so takes her fust, if yer 
mus hab some un. An Dad he can go wid her fer 
comp’ny. Pompey has too many wimmen and chil- 
lens to take car ob ; he can’ be spar’d jes yet! ” 



“Cum out. yer nigger , an don spile all dem new taters .” 


In vain did Rachel and Lieutenant Beekman call 
to the frightened boy, and tell him it was not the 
Britishers, only their friends firing to let them know 
that they were near. Pompey was too scared to stop, 
until he had hidden from the red-coats in the potato- 
barrel in the large dark cellar of the old farm-house. 

7 


















50 


Rachel DuMont. 


There Uncle Ned found him half an hour later, when 
getting the potatoes for the mid-day meal. 

“ Lors-a-massy, wot’s yer doin in dis tater bar’l ? 
Has yer been bout suffin arful wicked agin, an feard 
de gud Lor’ll cotch yer ? Cum out, yer nigger, an don 
spile all dem new taters,” said the pious father. 

“ Oh, daddie, I done thort dem red-coats was 
cornin’, an’ I’se so feard dey take yer an’ ole Grannie 
dat I come in de cella’ to fire at dem trough de trap 
door. Am dey come ? ” responded the valiant son. 

“ No, no, chile ! No Britishers ’ll come now ! 
Didn’ yer see de young Ginral wot’s come fo’ de little 
missy ? He’s de brave sojer wot will take car’ ob us ! 
Come out de bar’l, chile ! De good Lor’ ’ll take car’ 
ob poo’ ole Daddy and Grannie ! Yer’s a brave boy, 
Pompey, to ’fend yer ’lations, and s’all hab’ a big 
piece of watermelion for yer dinner for not forgettin’ 
de ole folks. Some niggers jes’ like some white 
folks, and jes’ looks out for dem own se’fs. But 
yer, Pompey, is a waryer , an’ no mistake! Come, 
chile, an’ kiss yer ole Grannie ! ” with much subdued 
feeling, were the jerky ejaculations of the proud 
parent. 



CHAPTER X. 


HE young Lieutenant, and still younger 
“ Lieutenant-General,” were now midway 
over the creek. The faithful white horse,— 
“Old Bill,”—his sobriquet, seemed to feel highly 
honored in being chosen for this important mission. 
Very cautiously did he feel of every stone before 
leaping with his precious burden. And though 
slowly the fording was accomplished, it did not 
inconvenience the gallant horseman and fair com¬ 
panion, because — well, they had a great deal to talk 
about and think about; and if “Old Bill” were slow, 
he was so sure-footed and knew so well what he was 
doing, and who were on his back. His riders trusted 
him, and he felt it. Certainly, if sound can travel 
over wire, so is there some sort of magnetism or 
mesmerism, imparted through the reins, by which 
one handles and controls the horse. Animals, par¬ 
ticularly horses, are very sensitive to this magnetic 

-whatever it may be called. (Time will bring 

this truth to the surface.) Rachel clung firmly to 
her pillion and ignored any other help. She resolved 
when she started not to be an incumbrance, but a 
helper. And resolutely did our young heroine keep 
her resolution. When at the spot from whence the 







2 


Rachel DuMont, 


% 



The young Lieutenant and still younger “Lieutenant-General ” crossing the 

Esop us creek. 


i 









































A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 53 

little girl had made the perilous leap of a few days 
before, Lieutenant Beekman espied something very 
shining in the clear water, nestling among the stones 
in the bed of the creek. The sun, which was high 
in the heavens, caused the little gem to emit flash 
after flash from the surface, dazzling the eyes of the 
young girl and the soldier. In an instant Tjerck 
sprang from the horse and plunged in the creek. So 
quickly had this been done, that Rachel, frightened 
lest some accident had happened to her comrade, 
turned very pale, and would have fallen, in spite of 
all her resolutions, had not the young soldier swiftly 
emerged from his impromptu bath with the precious 
jewel still flashing in lustrous brilliance, like a cluster 
of diamonds. More precious than the costliest of 
stones, was this found shoe-buckle to the young man 
and maiden. With the gallantry of the most chival¬ 
rous of knights did the youthful soldier now kneel 
on a rock and fasten it on the slipper or pump of the 
little maid. While doing this he made a wish that 
this pledge, rescued from the “waters of trouble,” 
might prove a true talisman against all that could 
harm his beloved. And Rachel, with all her old 
cognizance of what was going on in the atmosphere 
about her, felt her dear playmates wish to protect 
her, and thanked him with her eyes, although her lips 
were too tremulous to speak. 

“Now, where is the other one, Rachel? Have 
you it with you ? Give it to me, that the pair may 
be united once more. Truly, dear, these buckles 


54 


Rachel DuMont , 
























A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution, 55 

seem to be in perfect sympathy with our own fates. 
They shall be the augury of our friendship and love,” 
in a low clear voice spoke the young officer. “ Where 
is the other one, little girl?” Rachel, who did not 
want this tall “grown-up” gentleman to know that 
she was wearing a shoe-buckle next her heart, replied : 
“ You must wait until we go back to the farm-house. 

I cannot give it to you now. We must hurry to my 
old pets. My poor dove-eyed cows will think their 
little mistress has deserted them for good ; and the 
dear little chickens miss me, too ; I know they do. 
And the chubby white pigs. Oh, how I want to see 
them all y all! Come, mo?i amiL 

Tjerck, jumping on Old Bill’s back, while this lit¬ 
tle ruse-de-guerre was transpiring, the trio were soon 
rapidly gaining the Kingston shore. The young offi¬ 
cer was glad it was about dinner time at the camp, 
as the soldiers would be engaged with their meal, 
and he could thus protect the little maid from their 
questioning eyes and manners. As soon as they 
reached the land they left the old horse on some 
nice grass near the water, and hastened to the corn¬ 
field with the rich pasture adjoining. 

And now, what are these strange noises which 
greet their ears ? Surely they do not come from 
what are called human throats : Neither from the 
lips of the “brute creation.” They are the rejoicing 
cries of long-despairing, pent-up souls suddenly re¬ 
lieved from agony. Yes, from the mouths and hearts 
of cowSy chickenSy and even pigs come these unmistak- 


56 


Rachel DuMont. 


able notes of joy. The animals had caught sight of 
their young mistress coming to them as she had 
promised. Long had they watched and waited: 
And now their delight knew no bounds. Running 
to meet her, the whole flock so completely sur¬ 
rounded the little girl that the soldier was alarmed 
for her safety. Rachel assured her friend they 
would not harm her, and she would quiet them soon. 
For some minutes did the cows rub their faces 
against her habit, looking with their eyes as only 
cows can ; the chickens chirping and hopping about 
her, bobbing their funny little heads from one side 
to the other, as they peeped with their wee eyes to 
be sure it was Rachel; and the old mother pig, with 
her family of nine, each doing its share of joyous 
grunting and poking at Rachel’s feet. A happy re¬ 
united. family, with merry carnival celebrating the 
hour which restored to them their loved one. Who 
shall dare to say that such animals have no souls ? 
Nous verrons . 


CHAPTER XI. 


OON were these pets subdued to quietness 
and all still clustering about their faithful 
friend, they lay down as their token, or 
truce,” that the noisy demonstrations were 
at an end. Now the young pair proceeded to where 
the old home once had swung its inviting open- 
doors. Oh, the blackened mass which met their 
eyes ! The tender-hearted youth tried to turn Rachel 
from the shocking sight, but our brave little woman, 
only for an instant, averted her head. Then taking 
her comrade’s proffered hand, they approached the 
still smoking mass of ruins. One object they saw 
as they drew close, which made them think some 
soldiers must be near. This was a large black kettle, 
swinging on an iron chain over the old fire-place, 
which was all that was left of the dear home. Rachel 
recognized this black utensil as the one in which 
Isabel was making the suppawn (hasty pudding) for 
the birthday fete , when they were so rudely startled 
by the enemy. Yes, there was the Indian-corn, 
browned to perfection, waiting for the guests ;—and 
where were they ? 

The sight of the old kettle, which had been used 
by Rachel’s mother ever since the little girl could 
8 



“ flag of 




58 


Rachel DuMont , 


remember, brought the relief of tears to the eyes of 
the homesick child. Passionately, without shame, 
did she convulsively cry, sobbing as in her early 
childhood when something had gone wrong. Her 
friend did not try to stop the flood of tears, as he 
knew she could not be calm without this — nature’s 



“ The young girl had cried herself lo sleep.” 


remedy. The young man busied himself in disen¬ 
gaging the crane with the iron kettle attached, which 
had been hung over this family-hearth at the marriage 
of Rachel’s mother and father. One of the feet of 
the iron pot had succumbed to the flames which had 
so fiercely pelted upon it, and the kettle, minus one 
foot, is extant to this day, occupying an honored 
















A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 59 

niche in the heart and household of the writer of 
this story — a grandchild of little Rachel. 

The young girl had cried herself to sleep as she 
sat on some of the charred timbers encircling the 
burnt fire-place, with her head pillowed on her arm 
as was her wont in early childhood. All this week 
of suffering had vanished, and Rachel once more was 
the little mistress, the pet of the household, sitting 
by her mothers side as she was reclining in her 
invalid’s chair. One glance at the young maid’s 
face, with the happy child-smile playing about her 
lips, told her friend that nature had truly soothed 
and comforted the weeping girl. She must not be 
disturbed. He knew she would soon awake, so he 
remained perfectly quiet. 

The constant watching and excitement of the 
week, with not much proper food, had pressed very 
heavily upon the nerves of the little woman so 
young in years. And now the exhaustion conse¬ 
quent upon her convulsive weeping, had brought 
the best boon—“tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy 
sleep.” 

Rachel did not awake quite as soon as her com¬ 
rade and friend thought. Yet very patiently he 
occupied the post of sentinel until she should open 
her eyes. He feared to look at her steadily, lest 
that might disturb her rest, and only furtively, once 
in a while, did he allow his eyes to glance at the 
sleeping maid. And, indeed, the young man was 
rapt in reverie. Much had passed through his mind 


6o 


Rachel DuMont , 


and heart since he had learned that the British army 
had marched toward Kingston. And the last few 
hours had been burnt on his heart and brain never 
to be effaced. While in this deep meditation he was 
aroused by the voice of Rachel, murmuring in a low 
tone : “ How bright! How beautiful! That scarlet 
uniform I have seen before in some strange land ! 
Oram I dreaming? No, these are soldiers! Brit¬ 
ish soldiers ! Oh, they are coming, they are coming 
to burn our home! They are most there now! 
Where am I? In the water? I must jump! My 
mother! My father!” and with one quick start, 
Rachel awoke. For an instant she could not under¬ 
stand, as with a dazed look she fixed her eyes on 
the blackened ruins. And then as they met the lov¬ 
ing, anxious look of her old playmate, everything 
flashed to her mind. Now she knew. She had been 
asleep and dreaming of that dreadful day. The 
earnest eyes of the young soldier had touched the 
lost chord of memory, and Rachel was the brave 
little woman again, planning and directing for her 
dear ones. 

“ Forgive me, Tjerck, for having detained you, 
when your time is so precious. How could I have 
slept amid all this desolation ? God must have given 
me the rest I so much needed. Yet, not to-day, the 
first of your return, would I have been so selfish. 
But I feel strong now. You must not longer wait 
for me. Do you have to return to your command 
soon ? I hope I have not been the cause of your 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 61 

getting in trouble for delinquency. Tell me how it 
is,” quickly spoke Rachel. 

“ Well, my little fast talker, you are having things 
all your own way now. Yet I will interrupt your 
pleasant voice just long enough to say you never 
give me any trouble. Every moment spent with 
you brings naught but happiness. So rest your 
mind in peace, I am truly glad you have had the 
refreshing sleep. I could not have desired a greater 
blessing for you to-day, my little girl. And now I 
will take you back to your mother before I report at 
head-quarters, and then I will see you later in the 
day, so that we may talk over what is best to be 
done. Come, Rachel,” responded the young soldier. 

“Now, my old playmate, just listen to me; girls 
know so much better than boys how things should 
be managed, even in war-times. Leave me here; 
you go and report to your colonel; I will wait for 
you until you return. I want to look about these 
dear old walls for a while longer, and also to talk to 
and comfort my pets, the animals, a little more. Do 
not look so disapprovingly, God will take care of 
me ! Now please go ! That’s a good boy ! Grant 
this request and I will not soon again ask to be left 
in such a place. The Britishers are far, far away, and 
all your own soldiers are now in camp at dinner, so I 
shall not be disturbed. It is so quiet and peaceful 
here, even in the midst of these ruins. I feel that 
our Heavenly Father is now very near to us ! His 
arm is strong to protect. Go, Tjerck ! Obey me ! I 


62 


Rachel DuMont , 


am your little Lieutenant-General! ” uttered the low, 
sweet voice of the young girl. 

The soldier-youth could not resist the pleading 
tones and confident words of the brave maid. Her 
faith ever infused in his mind the same trust. He 
too felt the nearness of the Most High o’ershadowing 
this lonely spot, and encircling the fearless child with 
the bright cloud of His presence. 

“ Be it as you say, dear; I will soon come to you,” 
musingly answered the soldier. And with only a 
military salute his true eyes rested on those of Rachel 
for an instant, and he was rapidly walking toward 
the camp. 

Rachel watched him until out of sight, and then 
looked among the charred ashes for some token of 
her old loved home besides the iron kettle. None 
greeted her wistful eyes, and giving up the search, she 
sat down by the old family-hearth,— hoping to feel 
some of the comfort that must cling to it still. But 
oh, it was not the dear old fire-place without her 
beloved parents and the children. And even the 
little colored toddlings hanging about, with the grown 
servants going out and in, she missed more than she 
could express. And poor old Dinah laid up with the 
rheumatism, and Caesar, grown gray and old in the 
service of the family; and pious Uncle Ned, and 
even mischievous, wicked Pompey. How her heart 
yearned over them all. No place could feel like 
home where these were not. Where her loved ones 
were, even the wilds of the desert would be “ sweet, 
sweet home.” 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 63 

She could no longer tarry here. She would go to 
her friends in the corn-field and pasture-lot. They 
would comfort her now. And yes, she heard them 
calling to her in the language she so well understood. 
“ I am coming! I am coming ! dear old darlings,” 
answered Rachel. “ God has spared you for me, if 
the old stone walls have fallen. We can build another 
home, with our strong arms and hands, and again 
together our happy family shall be, animals and all. 
You do not forget your little mistress, do you?” 
ejaculated the young girl, as she hastened to where 
the cows were looking toward her. All her flock 
seemed to know she was coming: indeed, they had 
scarcely taken their eyes from the path she had taken 
when she had left them a little while before, ap¬ 
parently knowing she would not be long away. 
Now chickens, large and small, mother pig and nine 
wee piglings, as well as the dove-eyed cows, were on 
the qui vive for the return of their loved ones. 

Hastening to those intelligent, loyal brutes , {?') the 
young girl resolved, just for this once, she would be 
a child as of yore, and have a good romp with her 
old darlings. Throwing herself on the grass beside 
the cows, they rubbed her with their heads, while 
with her arms clasped around the neck of each in 
turn, she talked with their speaking eyes. And the 
chickens hopped on her head and shoulders and 
pecked at her cheeks and hands, keeping up an inces¬ 
sant clatter. One old rooster deliberately jumped 
on the head of Rachel, flapped his wings, and stretch- 


6 4 


Rachel DuMont , 


ing his neck to its utmost length, gave a tremendous 
crow, “ cock-a doo dle-do ! ” This unheard-of pro¬ 
ceeding made the child laugh heartily, but the sad¬ 
eyed cows looked aghast at the free-and-easy bird. 
The hens, too, seemed to be frightened at their liege 
lord’s lack of respect for their mistress, and woman¬ 
like tried to cover up the breach of decorum, by click¬ 
ing their bills very rapidly, thus engaging the atten¬ 
tion of the little lady. The baby-chicklings evidently 
thought it a most wondrous performance, as they 
intently watched the proud, self-satisfied rooster — 
“ lord of creation.” 

On the grass, with all these funny-acting pets 
clamoring about her, was our heroine, when the tall 
soldier returned. Springing to her feet, Rachel ex¬ 
claimed: “ Why, you have not come so soon ; I do 
believe you have run every step of the way. And 
you have not had one morsel of dinner, I know. I 
did not dream you could have yet reached your camp. 
You must be very tired, Tjerck; come sit down by 
me and rest.” 

The youth did not see much of a place to sit down, 
save on the outer edge of this family-group, with all 
the animals between him and his beloved. So he 
nonchalantly replied: “Now tell the truth, Rachel, 
have you missed me at all ? These — what shall I 
call them ? are so absorbing all your attention that 
there does not seem to be any room for me outside 
or inside your heart, and I do not choose to be ban¬ 
ished so far away.” 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 65 



“ You must be very tired , Tjerck; come sit down by me and rest." 




66 


Rachel DuMont , 


“ Oh, you old jealousy ! The same boy that you 
ever were,” returned the maid. “ Do you really 
think, Tjerck, that I could let anyone, even this dear 
beautiful cow, take your place? No, no ! You are 
first , now and forever — among my playmates ,”— 
archly continued the little lady. “And now come right 
here by my side, until I shall take that dismal crinkle 
out of your forehead. You are not handsome, my 
dear boy, when you are jealous. Run away, old 
mother-pig, and put your babies to sleep. And dear 
old cows, go lie down for a while under the trees. 
Somebody has come that does not love you as / do 
— and don’t you tell — that I like very, very, very 
much. 

“ And you, proud strutting chicken, go on the fence 
and give one more ‘ cock-a-doo-dle-do ’ just for auld 
lang syne’s sake. Take your wives and children with 
you. Away, away all of you for a while. Come, 
Tjerck, they will not interfere with you now; they 
understand every word I say to them. Come and 
rest just for a few minutes on this soft grass. And 
here is a nice drink of cool water : the cup I have 
made expressly for you : it will refresh you, I know.” 

Stepping to Rachel’s side, from whence all the ani¬ 
mals had stood aside, the young officer took from her 
hand the cup, made of maple leaves, and raising it 
to his lips, quickly drained the cooling chalice. “A 
sweeter draught was never quaffed, maiden fair,” re¬ 
sponded the soldier, with a low bow. “And now I 
will give myself just five minutes to enjoy that soft, 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 67 



A sweeter draught was never quaffed, maiden fair.' 




68 


Rachel DuMont , 


sweet grass, and then, little ‘-General,’ we must 

be on the march to report at your head-quarters. I 
fear, even now, your parents are alarmed for the 
safety of their little daughter who is absent, although 
in the charge of an American officer. Well, well, I 
cannot blame them. This pearl of pearls, most 
precious of jewels,” soliloquized the youth, as though 
no one were near, “she must be cherished and 
guarded at all hazards.” 

“Tjerck, Tjerck; you are just spoiling your old 
friend. Why, she is your helpmate now as well as 
playmate. This is war-time, and we are soldiers; I 
as well as you. Don’t you know I am not a timid 
little girl? Well, as long as I have a brave soldier 
boy by my side. And I am changed, Tjerck. The 
last week has showed me that women are good for 
something beside being taken care of. Oh, it would 
have done your heart good could you have seen how 
nobly many of our villagers acted that terrible day. 
/ could take care of you , Tjerck, if you needed for 
care, and men do, sometimes, as well as women, 
don’t they? Now, confess, my friend, wouldn’t you 
be a little afraid to live in this world if there were 
no women, and even no little girls ? They keep you 
from being homesick, don’t they ? And doesn’t 
homesickness take all the heart out of any one ? 
What are you thinking about ? I guess you are 
homesick now. You look so sober. And your five 
minutes have flown. Your repeater struck some 
time ago, but you were so taken up with something 



A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 69 

you did not notice it. Are you in or out of the 
body, Tjerck?” queried Rachel. 

Rising from the grass, Lieutenant Beekman took 
Rachel by the hand and assisted her over the rude 
log-fence of the pasture-lot. The young girl had 
truly spoken : A helpmate in so many senses of the 
word. As playmate she had been very dear, but the 
new pet-name pleased him more than he could tell. 
“Yes, little girl, you help me to live. Homesick! 
Desolate! Afraid! Yes, afraid would I be to live 
without you, Rachel. But with you Sahara would be 
a paradise. These last few days have brought to 
the surface, or developed the rich, unfailing, inex¬ 
haustible mine of comfort — your brave, loving, 
womanly heart. God help me to be equally strong 
and true . To love, cherish and protect Rachel,— I 
ask for no greater happiness. With all her heroism, 
she is still a woman, to defend. And I promise.” 

“ Tjerck, you musn’t be so solemn. This is our 
holiday : Let us be gay! ” vivaciously interlocuted 
the little French girl. “We will laugh, and sing, 
and dance, and make merry, because everything will 
come out right. I know it will. I feel it in the air, 
don’t you, Tjerck? Yes you do. Your eyes say so ; 
so let us take one run down this hill and see who 
will reach Old Bill’s back the first. Poor old horse ! 
he must be quite out of patience waiting for us. 
One , tzuo, three; I am off, Mr. Lieutenant,” called 
Rachel, as she fairly flew down the bank, “ catch me 
if you can.” 


70 


Rachel DuMont , 


The grave face of the young soldier quickly 
changed as he accepted the bantering challenge of 
the young girl. He, too, fleetly sped o’er the 
ground, but Rachel had sprung to the saddle before 
her companion could “catch her.” She was in the 
best of spirits, although the blackened ashes of her 
home were in sight. Hadn’t she still her mother 
and father, sisters and brother, and even her dear 
“ playmate ?” Why shouldn’t she be gay, and laugh, 
and play ? 

Vaulting lightly on the back of the faithful horse, 
Lieutenant Beekman, with this brave little maid, 
were soon fording the creek. The water had receded 
since morning, so the trip, thanks to Old Bill’s sure¬ 
footedness, was soon accomplished. Pompey was on 
the edge of the creek waiting for them, much sub¬ 
dued since the fright of the morning. The tribute 
to his valor—the huge piece of watermelon—had 
been generously bestowed upon him as promised. 
Yet his eyes did glare uneasily at the handsome 
young soldier so gallantly escorting the little 
“ missy.” Evidently Pompey did not enjoy or ap¬ 
preciate their military guest. He really had a mor¬ 
tal fear of soldiers, enemies or friends, not much 
difference. He seemed to think that swords and 
guns were rather suspicious, to say the least, and he 
felt safer in the potato barrel in the dark cellar than 
in the proximity of such uncanny things as these 
weapons. And he did turn pale, ashy gray, as the 
officer, with his sword at his belt, sprang from the 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 71 

horse and assisted Rachel to dismount, who allowed 
herself to be lifted from the saddle. 

“What is the matter, Pompey ? Has anything 
happened to mother or father, or the children ? Why 
do you act so strangely ? ” quickly asked the young 
girl. 

“Well, yer see, Missy Rachel, Pse ben worrit 
’bout yer all day. Yer’s not ’cussomed to sojers, an’ 
I done thort some dem guns an’ swords might go off. 
Berry dangus tings, dem am, missy. Don yer tink 
de young massa had better go back to his army now ? 
It might scare yer mudder an’ fadder to sees him so 
much ’roun’. I’ll tells him dat Pompey can take 
care ob de wimmen an’ chillen, an’ he can go shoot 
de Britishers. Sail I, missy?” retorted the negro lad. 

“ Pompey, do not talk so ridiculously. Lieutenant 
Beekman is our best friend, and has come to help us. 
My mother and father love him very much, and you 
know they have only little Johnnie ,—one boy* Now, 
for my sake, do all you can to make this soldier com¬ 
fortable,” in a low tone spoke Rachel. 

‘“Well,” said Pompey, “jus as yer done say, missy. 
Pompey don’ mind hissef, ony de little missy. I isn’ 
feared ob sojers an’guns, an’ all dat sort ob ting; 
but wimmen folks an’ chillen is divrent, dey might 
be scared. But jus as yer say, missy, Pompey isn’ 
feared.” 

During this little aside conversation between the 
young lady and the ruffled negro, Tjerck, noticing 


See Note in Appendix. 



72 


Rachel DuMont , 


that something was wrong, had delicately withdrawn 
a few steps, although not out of sight of the re¬ 
proachful eyes of the “ worrit ” boy. At the close of 
the confidential talk he rejoined Rachel, and releas¬ 
ing “ Old Bill ” from longer carrying them, side by 
side once more they sauntered o’er the grass-skirted 
road. Their hearts were too full for lightly talking 
now. They were happy, although their country was 



The “ worrit ” boy. 


in the midst of a long war for bare existence, and 
the young girl houseless and homeless. They had 
each other. This was more than content. They 
felt that the dear Father had given them the great¬ 
est of blessings. Why then, or how should they 
repine ? 

Hand in hand, as was their wont before this cruel 
war, did they present themselves before the sick 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 73 

parents. Neither was there now much need for 
words. Both mother and father knew that the chil¬ 
dren had come for their blessing, and each parental 
heart went forth to greet them. Still hand linked 
in hand they drew close to the loving parents, and 
with bowed heads, knelt before them. Beautiful, 
although solemn, was this sacred scene. The hands 
of mother and father on each lowly-bent head, as 
with uplifted eyes, silently, beseechingly they plead 
for Heaven’s smile to sanction the betrothal of their 
darling child. The war was forgotten. That their 
home had been destroyed and that they were wan¬ 
derers on the face of the earth, entered not either 
heart at this hallowed hour. Too pre*absorbed were 
they for the life-happiness of their first-born idol to 
let aught but their child usurp this “holy of holies.” 
The sun, which had been for a few moments under 
a cloud, now sent a bright ray of sunshine over the 
still kneeling youthful forms. It did seem as though 
Heaven was smiling. So the parents accepted the 
bright omen, and both Rachel and Tjerck felt the 
halo that rested upon them. 


10 


74 


Rachel DuMont. 



“ Hand in hand , as was their wont before this cruel war, did they present 
themselves before the sick parents. 






CHAPTER XII. 



|UST then Isabel entered the room with a 
tray of dinner for the young soldier and 
the little missy. Only her favorite dish of 
suppawn and milk, yet it was served with true hospi¬ 
tality. The young officer had not broken his fast 
since morning, and ate with a relish. Never had he 
enjoyed such a delicious repast, he said to the smil¬ 
ing Isabel. 

Rachel could not equally do justice to the meal, 
although Isabel protested that she must be “ done 
starved.” “ Eat, honey ; it’ll do yer good,” coaxed 
the loving old servant. “An’ no bekfus did de chile 
hab, eider. Oh, dis am offul war. How’s my ole 
brin’el, darlin’? Did yer see ’em? Was dem all 
live? Chick, pigs, hens, all?" 

“ Yes, my good Isabel, they are all alive, and as fat 

as-well, as fat as you, Isabel; and they want to 

see you, I know. I read that in their eyes. We 
must soon go back to the old place,” the young girl 
said, as if thinking aloud. 

In this last sentence Rachel had unwittingly 
struck the key-note of what Tjerck wanted to say. 
Hastily taking up the words, he said : “Yes, and our 
soldiers shall build you a house. It will not take 






76 


Rachel DuMont , 



Only her favorite dish of suppawn and milk." 











































































































































A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 77 

them long to erect a comfortable home out of the 
logs near at hand. To-morrow they will commence 
this work, and soon you will be under your own 
roof. The servants can help them, and can gather 
the remaining harvest also. General Clinton told me 
this morning that he and his command would do all 
in their power to make homes for the inhabitants of 
the unfortunate village. And since they will stay 
here three weeks at least, much can be done. Our 
men work like troopers when their heart is in their 
work, and they are in earnest for the poor sufferers 
of Kingston. You, Rachel, I wish to stay at this 
farm-house with your parents and the children, until 
Captain-, my friend, shall come for you. Prom¬ 

ise me this, dear.” 

Rachel was so truly in the mist of sweet happiness 
that was enveloping her, that she scarcely compre¬ 
hended this new order of things. Not until Tjerck 
addressed himself immediately to her, did she emerge 
from this pleasant hiding-place. Then, fearing from 
the manner in which her old playmate spoke, that he 
was not to remain, she quickly exclaimed: “You 
will not leave us, Tjerck ; I cannot let you go.” 

“ Yes, Rachel, you will, when I tell you that even 
now I have my orders to join General Washington, 
who is on the march for Valley Forge. Would that 
I could stay with you, darling. Yet God will protect 
you, Rachel.” 

Isabel, with Caesar, who had stolen unperceived in 
the room, upon hearing that the soldiers would build 


78 


Rachel DuMont . 


them a house, with their warm African blood, sang 
or intoned: Bress de Lor’! Bress de Lor’ ! God am 
good ! Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! ” 

And no less sincerely did Mr. and Mrs. DuMont 
thank and praise Him for His wondrous help in their 
time of need. The announcement that they would 
have a home once more made their hearts and eyes 
o’erflow with gratitude toward their Heavenly Pro¬ 
tector. 

And now only an hour could the young soldier 
stay with this happy family. Yes, happy, in spite of 
all their loss, because they thought of the goodness 
and kindness of their Heavenly Father, and with 
pure faith and trust knew that He would bring good 
even from the misfortune which had befallen them. 
Very pleasant and dear was this hour’s communion 
with their soldier-son. They trusted him without 
reserve with all their plans. They had still their farm 
and all their cattle, and before winter much could be 
accomplished. General Washington had sent sup¬ 
plies to satisfy the immediate pressing need of the 
villagers, and had ordered the command to do all 
they could for the suffering ones, which order was 
very efficiently enforced by General George Clinton. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


RAVELY the young soldier— Lieutenant 
Beekman — tried to impart to the young 
girl—Rachel — the counsel, comfort and 
strength that she would need through the years that 
might intervene before he should see her — or — but 
he could not think of the other alternative that had 
lain like a weight on his mind and heart. He 
trusted that their lives would be spared , and that 
they should be reunited, never again to be separated. 
To leave his little playmate and helpmate was now 
his greatest sorrow. 

Rachel — brave little patriot, courageous woman — 
felt in the innermost recesses of her heart that all 
would be well, and that Tjerck and she should be 
reunited. So she would be strong ! Was she not a 
woman, now, with the charge of a family on her 
young shoulders? Truly had she in the events of 
the last week proved herself worthy of the title of 
Lieutenant-General, and she would not now show a 
child’s weakness. Bravely she bade Tjerck “ Good¬ 
bye,” bidding her own wildly-throbbing heart “ Be 
still ! ” 

With an affectionate farewell to each of the family, 
the young soldier whispered something in the ear of 





8o 


Rachel DuMont . 


the mother, and with one parting kiss on Rachel’s 
broad, clear brow, and one look in the depths of her 
dark gray eyes — he was gone ! 

Rachel stood where her beloved had left her with 
one hand over her heart, and one shading her eyes, 
intently watching the retreating form of the noble 
young officer until she could see him no longer — 
then turning to her mother, was clasped to the loving 
mother-heart, where we leave her to be comforted. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


IEUTENANT Beekman hurried to camp, 
and giving his trusted friend the plans — 
his own — for the new home of the Du¬ 
Mont family — with this friend’s sacred promise to 
direct the speedy building of the log-house — he 
mounted his horse, with a few soldiers as body-guard, 
and started on his journey. Early the next morn¬ 
ing, a captain in the American uniform, with a com¬ 
pany of twenty-five men, were at work at the home 
of little Rachel. Not many days passed before 
they had a very comfortable building, to which the 
family could immediately remove. Rachel had sent 
all the men-servants to help the soldiers, and to 
gather the harvest. She, with her parents and the 
children, remained where they were, until the Cap¬ 
tain, Lieutenant Beekman’s friend, came to tell them 
everything was in readiness, and to escort them with 
all needed help to their new home. Very faithfully 
did this officer fulfill every promise made. All that 
could be done for the comfort of this family was 
most zealously and gallantly performed. They were 
in his charge and were cared for tenderly. 

And now, having placed my little heroine and her 
loved ones once more in their home,— on their own 
beloved grounds,— perhaps I should stop. 





82 


Rachel DuMont. 


But, may be some one or more of my young 
readers would like to know if Rachel and Tjerck 
ever met again. So I will spin out my story a little 
longer, and tell these interested ones the true sequel. 
At the close of the war, which lasted six years after 
the burning of Kingston, the young soldier, who 
had then obtained a captain’s commission, came to 
Rachel’s home. And although this is not a “ love 
and marriage ” novel, I think I will farther add that 
Captain Beekman and Rachel DuMont were mar¬ 
ried very soon after peace was proclaimed. 



Lieutenant Beekman goes to join General Washington, at Valley Forge. 












CONCLUSION. 


]N OTHER fete champetre on Rachel’s twenty- 
first birthday, to atone for the one that the 
Britishers had spoiled exactly six years 
before. Again is the table laid on the soft sweet 
grass of the old-fashioned lawn; although it is the 
sixteenth of October. But Rachel even had the 
same beautiful Indian-summer-day now for her bridal. 
(God was so good to remember everything ;) And 
Isabel as fat and gay as ever, in her brand new red 
turban, was now, as of old, to preside over the good 
things to eat. The suppawn and milk was yet intact, 
but a huge bridal cake, with “ Rachel ” in large sugar 
letters, was even then in its honored place in the cen¬ 
tre of the table — a chef-d'czuvre — the product of 
the loving brain, heart and hands of the good old 
colored woman. This indefatigable, never-tiring 
friend had also filled the hospitable board with de¬ 
licious Dutch rusks, as only Isabel could make, and 
honey, and oleykceks, and maple sugar, and large red 
apples, and “ Maiden Blush ” apples, and raisins, and 
white walnuts, and black walnuts, and butternuts, 
and delicious cider,- 

Now, young friends, isn’t that a banquet fit for a 
king ? And I must tell you that the cider was poured 







8 4 


Rachel DuMont , 


from the old silver tankard that was among the relics 
saved that memorable day. And instead of tumblers 
or goblets they used the old blue china that had also 
been rescued from the red-coat Britishers. 

Caesar was still the head-waiter — or, no — the 
butler — he wished to be called — with his hair braided 
as of old (on one side). The corresponding portion 
of his head had been bereft of the gray, scanty locks 
by his nephew — the wicked Pompey — one day when 
the poor old man was asleep. He was caught doing 
it by his father, '‘Uncle Ned,” although Caesar in¬ 
sisted that it was “ dem rascally Britishers dat wuz 



“Missy Rachel's butler .” 

tryiri to scalp him.” Indeed, he was so proud of 
this — his only scar of the war — that he would not 
cut off the remaining one queue, but clung to it so as 
to have a chance to tell his version of the “scalpin’.” 
Pompey gave as his excuse for so naughty a prank 
that “ Uncle Caese put on mos’ too much ‘grandilo- 
quism ’ for ony a nigger, eben dough him is Missy 
Rachel’s butler.” The other servants were dressed 
the same as at the other party ; indeed, this was their 
prescribed regalia for state occasions. 

And the bride! — Beautiful Rachel! Tall — lithe 
and graceful in every movement—her dark gray 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 85 

eyes beamed to-day with a quiet, tender, tremulous 
joy. She was robed in her old favorite costume — 
the same that had so filled the eyes of her boy-lover 
six years before, only of some finer material. (The 
young- Captain had made this request.) So her 
country’s colors were her bridal-robe. And the 
luxuriant chestnut-hair, still gleaming with gold, 
which now reached almost to the hem of her skirt — 
her only bridal-veil. This, too, was the young officer’s 
taste, which rather shocked some of the orthodox 
Dutch matrons, who thought it should have been 
put away closely under a cap. 

And the huge silver shoe-buckles (her only orna¬ 
ments)—the same that had for years been so closely 
linked and twined about Rachel’s heart, flashed and 
sparkled with renewed brilliancy, as though in truth 
they were in perfect sympathy with the young lovers’ 
happy hearts U7iited forever. 

****** 

And the old crane, with the kettle — minus one 
foot — attached, which was all that was left of the 
old home, which the “Britishers” burned,—was hung 
over the bridal-hearth of the charming bride and 
noble bridegroom, the same evening, with appropri¬ 
ate festivities. 

****** 

Rachel DuMont Beekman lived to the age of 
ninety-three years in the village of Kingston, on the 
very grounds surrounding the home of her childhood 


Rachel DuMont , 



So her country's colors were her hidal-robe. 
































































































A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 87 

and birth. Her husband, the gallant soldier of the 
Revolution, fell at her side at the early age of thirty- 
one years.* He had contracted a severe cold the 
winter Washington was encamped at Valley Forge, 
where our army suffered such terrible privations, 



The hanging of the crane. 


which made sad inroads upon his naturally strong 
constitution. Rachel was ever true to the memory 
of her soldier-husband to the latest day of her life. 
She even reproved (in her ninety-third year) one 
who said that “ Tjerck was rather a harsh name,” and 
insisted with all the fervor of early girlhood that it 
was beautiful. Left a widow at the age of twenty- 
six, with three children, for sixty-seven years she 
walked alone the path toward Heaven, her life full 
of honors, respected and loved by all. / 


See Note in Appendix. 











88 


Rachel DuMont , 


On her ninety-third birthday, in accordance with her 
usual custom, Mrs. Tjerck Beekman had quite a large 
party of her relatives and friends. She was robed 
in a soft gray silk, with white mull ’kerchief—her 
silvery hair partly covered with a delicate mull cap 

— and entertained her guests with all the grace and 
vivacity of her youth. After the company had gone 

— quite early in the evening — she said she thought 
she would take off the long robe and put on the 
“ short gown and petticoat,” which had ever been 
her favorite costume from childhood. Telling her 
daughter, then her only child, she was tired\ she lay 
down on her couch, and never arose. A few days 
later she passed to the brighter “ Home,” there to 
rejoin the lover-husband of her early girlhood, never, 
never again to be parted. 


^ Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 8 g 






FINIS. 


SHORT time after the death of Captain 
Tjerck Beekman, General Washington 
visited Newburgh. The bereaved young 
wife of the fallen patriot, with her only boy, a child 
of three years, with a double share of her old mili¬ 
tary fervor, hastened thither to do him honor. Robed 
in deepest mourning, with her fatherless boy in her 
arms, standing on the side of one of the streets 
through which the military hero was to pass, she was 
seen by the tender-hearted “ Father of our Country.” 
An officer at his side who knew Mrs. Beekman, 
noticing that Washington had observed her, told 
him that she was the wife of Captain Beekman, who 
was with him at Valley Forge. General Wash¬ 
ington immediately dismounted and went to the 
young widowed mother. With a great deal of feel¬ 
ing he took her hand, saying a few words, and lifting 
her boy in his strong arms, he kissed the fair baby- 
brow. Then, most courteously he bade the sorrow¬ 
ing Rachel adieu, and hastened to his comrades in 
waiting. 






A Brave Little ATaid of the Revolution 


9 1 



“ General Washington immediately dismounted and went to the young 

widowed mother. ” 
























APPENDIX. 



APT AIN Tjerck Beekman, the husband of 
Rachel DuMont, was one of the original 
members of “The Society of the Cincin¬ 
nati, ” of which General Washington was the first 
President. John Beekman Westbrook, of Peekskill, 
N. Y.,— the grandchild of Rachel and Tjerck — 
has inherited in the order of succession (and taken) 
Captain Tjerck Beekman’s seat in that illustrious 
body. 


Through the kindly courtesy of Mrs. Henry H. 
Reynolds, of Kingston, N. Y., we are permitted to 
publish the following extracts from letters written to 
Mr. Cornelius Wynkoop, of New York, the grand¬ 
father of Mrs. Reynolds, by his sons, Mr. Augustus 
Wynkoop and Mr. Cornelius ]j£. Wynkoop : 

Written by Augustus Wynkoop to his father, Mr. 
Cornelius Wynkoop : 

Kingston, Dec. 27th, 1791. 

* * * On Sunday night died Capt. Tjerck 

Beekman, to the great sorrow of all his acquaint¬ 
ance, and loss of the Regiment. To-day he is to be 
buried with honours of war. 




A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution . 93 

Written by Cornelius Wynkoop to his father, 
Mr. Cornelius Wynkoop : 

Kingston, Dec . 28 ih, 1791. 

* * * Died here on Sunday evening last, Capt. 

Tjerck Beekman, that much respected officer and 
good man. His funeral was more than common: 
it was almost the same as Col. Hasbrouck’s, except 
as to firing of cannon, but in its place we had the 
Free Masons in their dress, who attended the 
funeral in order, he being a brother. It was a very 
solemn scene. There was not a single individual — 
either those attending the funeral, or spectators (of 
which there were an uncommon number), but seemed 
all as if» they mourned bitterly, for the loss of 
Beekman. 

******** 

Rachel’s little brother — Johnnie — was, in after 
years, the “ owner ” of the slave-woman — Isabel — 
who in the full maturity of womanhood became the 
world-famed evangelist, Sojourner Truth. She was 
a beloved inmate of his household for many years — 
Mr. John DuMont of Esopus — and served his 
family most faithfully. To the latest moments of 
her chequered life, did the heart of this noble woman 
— who was so truly baptized with the Holy Spirit 
and who with so much pathos told of the Blessed 
Master — lovingly turn — with pride — to the chil¬ 
dren and grandchildren (calling each by name) of 


94 Racket DuMont , 

the fondly-remembered “Missy ”—Rachel DuMont 
Beekman. 

******** 

The grandfather of “Rachel DuMont” — Col. 
Wessel TenBroeck — erected the quaint building 
known as the old Senate House in Kingston, N. Y., 
more than two hundred years ago. One hundred 
years afterward, the first Senate of the State of New 
York held its sessions there, the year of the adop¬ 
tion of the First Constitution — (i 777). 

******** 

Col. TenBroeck married twice. His second wife, 
whom he married in 1695, was the widow of Thomas 
Chambers, the first prominent settler of Esopus, 
now Kingston. Before her marriage with Mr. 
Chambers, she had been the widow of Rev. Lauren- 
tius Van Gaasbeck, the second pastor of the old 
Dutch church of Esopus (now Kingston). Col. 
Abraham VanGaasbeck, a son of this marriage, 
married one of the daughters of Col. Wessel Ten 
Broeck (by his first marriage), and inherited the 
Senate House through his wife, Sarah TenBroeck — 
the aunt of Rachel DuMont. 

******** 

Col. VanGaasbeck bequeathed the old mansion, 
the first Senate House of the State of New York , 
to his wife’s niece, Sarah DuMont (a sister of 
Rachel DuMont), who afterward married his son 
Peter (her cousin), a member of the First Congress 


A Brave Little Maid of the Revolution. 95 












96 Rachel DuMont. 

of the United States. By the only child of this 
marriage — Sarah VanGaasbeck — this antique build¬ 
ing of Revolutionary historic fame was given to the 
grandchild of “Little Rachel ”—Charles Ruggles 
Westbrook , of Ogdensburg, N. Y.,— who conveyed 
it to his brother, the present owner — Frederic 
Edward Westbrook , of New York city.* 

*This antique, historic building of Revolutionary fame — the first Senate 
House of the State of New York — has recently passed into the posses¬ 
sion of the State. 















































































































































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